Page 13 of Beckett's Fate

A campfire.

Creeping closer, she crouched low, peering through the underbrush. Three men sat around the fire, their voices low but distinct. The metallic tang of weapons and the acrid scent of gun oil hit her nose, making her stomach twist.

Hunters.

They were laughing, their voices carrying snippets of words that made her blood run cold.

“... saw tracks up by the ridge. Bigger than normal...”

“... told you these woods aren’t just full of deer...”

“... worth a fortune if we bag one...”

Irene’s heart pounded as she slowly backed away, her paws silent against the damp ground. She needed to get out of here—now. These men weren’t just a threat to her but to everyone in Silver Falls. If they were tracking shifters, they’d already crossed a dangerous line.

Her retreat was painstakingly slow, every nerve on edge as she moved away from the fire. A sudden crack of a branch made her freeze, her breath hitching as one of the men stood, his head swiveling toward the sound.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Probably just a raccoon,” another man muttered, but the first didn’t look convinced.

Irene held her breath, her body coiled and ready to bolt if necessary. After what felt like an eternity, the man sat back down, and she continued her retreat, her heart hammering in her chest.

She made a wide circle, ensuring she hadn’t been followed. By the time Irene reached the pastures, the first hints of dawn were coloring the horizon. She shifted back, her body aching with the strain of the night, and quickly pulled on her clothes. Slinging the gear bag over her shoulder, she started back toward the B&B, her mind racing.

The hunters were a threat she couldn’t ignore. But more than that, the black wolf’s mournful howl echoed in her mind, refusing to be silenced.

As she reached the Bristlecone’s front door, she hesitated, glancing back toward the forest. The danger in these woods wasgrowing, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep running—from the hunters, from Beck, or from herself.

6

BECK

The moon hung low in the night sky, its silver glow casting long shadows across the forest as Beck sprinted through the trees. The cold shower hadn’t worked. He hoped that a long run would allow him to sleep without picturing how Irene would look naked on her back, her legs spread and the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils.

Well, that kind of thinking wasn’t going to help. His paws dug into the soft earth, his sleek black coat blending seamlessly with the darkness around him. The cool mountain air filled his lungs, carrying with it the scents of the forest—and something else.

Something that stopped him cold.

The scent hit him like a lightning bolt, sharp and intoxicating, a mix of wild musk and something faintly sweet, almost floral. It was unfamiliar, foreign, and deeply, maddeningly provocative. Beck’s wolf bristled, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he lifted his nose to the wind.

A she-wolf. Not just any she-wolf. His. His mate. His fated mate.

He scanned the forest as he shifted his weight, torn between following the scent and continuing his patrol. Earlier that day, word had reached him of hunters spotted in the area. He’dspread the warning throughout Silver Falls, ensuring everyone knew to stay alert and close to home. Hunters were a threat they couldn’t afford to take lightly—not with the town’s secret hanging in the balance.

But now, this scent—this unfamiliar presence—tugged at him in a way he couldn’t ignore. His wolf rumbled restlessly in his mind, urging him to follow, to find the source of the tantalizing trail.

Growling softly to himself, Beck took off, his powerful body moving effortlessly through the underbrush. The scent grew stronger as he ran, weaving between trees and leaping over fallen logs with practiced ease. It was faintly disjointed, as if the wolf had taken a circuitous route through the forest, but it was unmistakable. She was close.

As he crested a ridge, the sharp tang of gun oil cut through the enticing scent, snapping him back to reality. Beck slowed, his ears swiveling as he scanned the area. The faint glow of a fire flickered in the distance, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.

Hunters.

His lips pulled back in a silent snarl as he moved closer, keeping low to the ground. From his vantage point, he could see them—three men gathered around a fire, their rifles leaning against a nearby log. They were relaxed, laughing quietly, but their words carried the unmistakable edge of predatory intent.

“... tracks down by the creek. Fresh ones.”

“Big, too. Bigger than a normal wolf.”

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